Naomi Grim: The Final Breath Chronicles Book One

by V. B. Marlowe

  Colden stared back at him, eyes full of hatred.

  “Sorry, sir, he wouldn't negotiate,” Bram answered.

  “Fine. We’ll arrange something,” Dunningham said.

  I didn't believe him. That was a lot of lifestones, and he had given in too easily.

  Dunningham focused his attention on me once more. “As I was saying, I've been doing some thinking about you, and I think an execution is not the way to go.”

  Mother exhaled, and Father squeezed her hand. They looked relieved, but I wasn't.

  Dunningham pointed to Doyle. “Thank him. He vouched for you and changed my mind.”

  I glanced at Doyle, but I wouldn’t thank him. There was some reason he wanted me alive, probably for the project Dunstan had mentioned.

  “So, what will happen to Naomi?” Mother asked.

  Dunningham never took his gaze from me. I shuddered like something was crawling up my leg. He smiled with only one side of his mouth. “Naomi will come work for me.”

  I shot up from the couch. “No, I won't!”

  “Naomi!” Mother shouted.

  “I won't, Mother! I'd rather die than work for him the rest of my life. Kill me. Just kill me.”

  Dunningham didn't look surprised by my reaction. He was amused. “Young Grim, calm yourself. This is not up for discussion. The decision has been made.”

  I turned to Doyle. “What did you do? Why did you do this?”

  “When can I get those lifestones?” Colden asked before Doyle could answer.

  I stormed over and shoved him out of frustration. “Thanks for your concern!” I slammed my fist into his chest. Colden raised his arms to shield himself.

  Father hurried over and pulled me away.

  “Nay, you're making a fool out of yourself,” Bram said from the couch.

  I tried to kick him, but Father was holding me too tight.

  “Darkness, stop it,” he whispered in my ear. “There's nothing any of us can do about this. It's better than death.”

  But Father was wrong. This was much, much worse.

  Chapter 41

  My heart sank into my stomach as we pulled up to the gate of Dunningham's massive mansion. The tall wrought iron gates opened on their own as the carriage pulled onto the driveway.

  I'd seen pictures of Dunningham's estate, but I'd never seen it in person, since I'd never been allowed in the Upper Estates.

  The ride through the city had shown me streets of identical-looking mansions sitting on acres of lands. The homes looked like something out of a storybook. Father and Bram definitely would have loved it here.

  Once again, I sat between Dunningham and Doyle. Another carriage would bring Colden to the mansion as he waited for the lifestones he was supposed to take back to the Outskirts. I shot Doyle dirty looks he tried to ignore.

  Dunningham's mansion was astonishing. I'd never seen anything like it. I thought there was enough room for everyone in Farrington to live inside. The large Victorian house looked like a castle with its rooks and steeples. There had to be at least fifty windows on the front of the house alone. I felt sorry for whoever had to keep the house clean, then I remembered that would soon be me.

  A large courtyard surrounded the building. Perfectly pruned shrubs shaped like skulls sat in each corner. The Grim emblem we each had branded on our shoulders was etched into the lawn in the middle of the yard. Two men were on their knees, pulling weeds.

  The driver took us around the circular driveway, where we stopped at the mansion's entrance. Immediately a man in a three-piece suit opened the door on Dunningham's side. I didn't even see where he had come from. I slid out after him, staring at the ground, trying my best not to seem impressed by his spectacular home.

  “Graham, this is Naomi. She'll be joining the cleaning staff. Please fetch Hesper,” he told the man.

  The man nodded and headed up the stairs to the steel double doors.

  Another man opened the door for us and ushered us inside. Doyle, Dunningham, and I stepped into the humongous foyer, which was everything I had imagined and then some. We stood on a beautiful marble floor, filled with fancy designs and silver swirls. The windows were covered with intricate black drapery. Plush black leather furniture and expensive silver accessories filled the living room, or whatever room we were in. I took note of a beautiful candelabra on the fireplace's mantel.

  A plump woman came down one side of the double staircases, proceeding delicately onto each carpeted step. “Welcome back, Mr. Dunningham, sir. You called for me?”

  “Yes, Hesper. This is Naomi.” I hated how he pronounced by name. He always called me Ni-o-me. It hadn't really bothered me until then. “Naomi, this is Hesper. She's in charge of the cleaning staff. You'll do what she tells you.”

  I met the woman's dark eyes and looked down. She was an older lady with gray hair pulled back into a bun. I wondered what her deal was. Was she in her position because she was being punished? Yes, I guessed, from her gray hair and hints of aging. I could sense her looking me up and down. Little did she know, I had no intention of lifting a finger to serve Dunningham.

  “Hesper,” Dunningham continued. “Please be sure to give her a proper rundown of the rules and procedures. This one here likes to do as she pleases.”

  Hesper gave me a look, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Naomi—” Dunningham began.

  “What?” I snapped.

  Both Doyle and Hesper gasped.

  “I mean, yes, Mr. Dunningham, sir.” But an edge of attitude was still in my voice.

  Dunningham paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he would let that slide. “Hesper will show you to your quarters, and then she'll show you where you will be assigned to work. You may speak to no one except for Hesper.”

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered.

  “This way,” Hesper said.

  I followed her down the long corridor filled with closed doors and tall windows that ran from theceiling to the ground. Somewhere a dog barked, either Black or Blue.

  Finally we reached the end of the hallway. Hesper opened a door, and I followed her down the flight of stairs. The dark, dank room reeked of mildew. When we got to the bottom, two rows of twin-sized beds covered with gray sheets lined the walls. I counted about twenty.

  “These are the maid's quarters. You can have the bed there against the wall.” Hesper pointed to a garment folded on the end of the bed. “That's your uniform.”

  I unfolded the ugly black dress and a white smock. I'd much rather stay in my jeans and hoodie. I tossed the uniform back on the bed.

  “Go ahead and change,” Hesper said, “and I'll show you where you'll be stationed.”

  “Stationed?”

  “Yes. We can use more help in the kitchen.”

  That was about the last place I wanted to be. “I can't cook.”

  “You'll learn.” Hesper began up the stairs. “Change. I'll be back down in a minute.”

  I plopped down on the hard bed, listening to the door close at the top of the stairs. There was no reason for her to come back. I wasn't changing. I wasn't doing anything. I refused to spend the rest of my years—I wasn't even sure how many I had left anymore—being Dunningham's slave. I ran my hands over the coarse sheets that covered the bed. At least it would be better than sleeping on the floor of a shack.

  Hesper returned and sucked her teeth. “Why aren't you in your uniform?”

  “I'm not wearing it.”

  “You will wear it. It's not optional.”

  I stared at the ground and said nothing.

  Hesper sighed. “Well, you can go explain to Mr. Dunningham why you won't do as you're told.”

  I stood and folded my arms across my chest. “Fine, I'll do that.”

  Hesper looked at me as if I'd just said the dumbest thing she'd ever heard. “He's in his study.”

  I followed her to Dunningham's study, an elaborate room off to the side of the staircase. Hesper knocked on the door and looked at me sharply.

/>   “Yes?” Doyle called.

  “We have a problem with the new girl, sir,” Hesper answered through the door.

  “Come in,” Dunningham called, sounding tired.

  Hesper opened the door, and I entered. She closed the door behind me and went about her business, probably glad to be rid of me for the moment.

  Dunningham's study was huge. Books lined shelves from floor to ceiling. He sat behind a large marble desk while Doyle and Colden sat in two chairs in front of him.

  “What is your problem?” Dunningham asked, taking a drink from a glass filled with dark liquid.

  I looked him dead in the eyes. “I'm not wearing that uniform, and I'm not working in your kitchen,” I said firmly.

  He set his glass down and made a face, clearly frustrated with me. His eyes closed. “I can't win with you, can I? You and your mother should have been killed when you were born, but I let you both live. Then despite your mixed blood, I give you and your family an amazing opportunity, and you blew it. Then I overturned your death sentence, at Mr. Doyle's persistence, and gave you a chance at life, and you won't put on your uniform. You're not leaving me very many options.”

  I glanced at Colden, who looked back and forth between Dunningham and I. What was Dunningham up to? He was probably trying to negotiate with Colden over the lifestones.

  “I don't want to work here,” I whispered.

  Dunningham dropped back in his seat, stroking his chin. “So you peel a few vegetables and wash some dishes. What's the big deal?”

  “I don't want to spend the rest of my life working in your kitchen, that's the big deal. I'd rather be dead!”

  Dunningham glanced at Doyle, who shook his head. I wanted to ask him why he was keeping me alive. Doyle was Dunningham's right-hand man and biggest influence. He wouldn't let Dunningham kill me.

  “I see,” Dunningham said. “What if I let you have a visit from your friends from time to time? Would that be better?”

  “You would let my friends visit here?” I was confused. “Why?”

  “Whatever I can do to make you happy, dear.”

  “Let me go home.”

  “Besides that,” Dunningham answered. “Now go put your uniform on and find Hesper. Either that, or someone else has to pay your debt. You can work here, or your mother can.”

  “No! I'll do it.” I wouldn’t let my mother pay the price for me, even though I knew she would do it in a heartbeat. “Can someone show me where the kitchen is?” Doyle would have to, since Colden didn't know the house and Dunningham never did anything.

  As I expected, Doyle rose from his seat. “This way.” He sounded annoyed.

  I followed him out. “What are you doing?” I whispered to him once we were out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” he asked back. “I'm trying to save your life, here.”

  We stopped in the foyer. “I know that,” I said. “The question is why.”

  Doyle sighed and looked around. “Dunstan needs you for something. Don't worry. You won't be here for long. I just need you to play along and do your job. Stop causing trouble. You're worse than your brother.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the kitchen.

  “How did you get Dunningham to change his mind? What did you tell him?”

  “I showed him a way to get something he wants.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Don't worry about it,” he said, pushing the swinging doors open. “Ladies, here's some more help. Keep an eye on this one.” Then he shoved me inside.

  Chapter 42

  After I steadied myself, I looked around the kitchen, where two women worked quickly. One was busy flattening a ball of dough with a rolling pin, and the other sprinkled spices on some meat.

  I cleared my throat. They ignored me, so I just stood there.

  “So, Mr. Doyle told me you've come to your senses,” Hesper said, entering the kitchen and shoving my uniform against my chest. “Follow me.” She led me to the largest refrigerator I'd ever seen, where she removed a basket of vegetables. “Today you'll chop the veggies for the salad and do anything else Selima tells you to do. That's the only time you may speak to each other. Selima's in charge of the kitchen. Do as she says. You may go into the storage room and change.” She pointed to a door off to the side, then left me standing there with the basket of vegetables and my uniform.

  I looked around Dunningham's state-of-the-art kitchen. The entire first floor of our house in Farrington could have fit in it. I'd heard rumors that this house had two kitchens. What would anyone need two kitchens for?

  I left the basket of vegetables on the counter and went to the storage room to change. All sorts of food and supplies filled the room from top to bottom, like a grocery store. I changed quickly from my jeans and hoodie to my hideous uniform. I didn't know what to do with my clothes, so I folded them neatly and left them on the floor.

  I returned to the basket I’d left on the kitchen island and grabbed a carrot. As I turned around to look for a knife, one almost cut my face.

  “Hey!” I screamed in surprise.

  “Here,” Selima said, handing me the knife. She placed a large bowl beside me and went back to her business.

  I spent what felt like forever chopping carrots, heads of lettuce, onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers. Every now and then, I would steal glances at the two women. They were young. I wondered how they felt about doing this job day in and day out for an eternity. They couldn't even hold conversations with each other to help pass the time.

  I'd always felt sorry for Dunningham's servants. Now I was one of them.

  My salad looked horrible. The vegetables looked butchered and unappetizing. Selima made a face at it, but she said nothing. Leave it to me to mess up a salad.

  Close to dinnertime, Selima showed me how to set the table. She told me they had to set twelve places every night, but I wasn't sure why. Dunningham had no family. He'd been married a couple of times, but his wives had all mysteriously disappeared. Of course, there was no one to question that. He'd never had any children. Probably because he didn’t want to pass down his position of power to anyone else. I guess sometimes his assistants joined him for meals. I knew Doyle often did.

  I realized after a minute that Selima had been explaining to me what to do during the dinner service. Which side of the chair to stand on when we served. How to refill the glasses. We had to stand around and watch them eat until Dunningham dismissed us, then we would eat, clean the dishes and the dining room, and then go to bed. What a life.

  * * *

  When dinnertime came around, Selima placed the large salad bowl and a pair of tongs on a cart. “Remember which way I told you to serve from.”

  I didn't remember. I just knew the salad plate was the smaller one.

  I pushed the cart out to the dining area. Dunningham sat at the head of the table. Doyle and Colden sat on either side of him. The thought of having to serve Colden made me sick to my stomach. We made eye contact. He looked kind of pissed, but then he always looked that way.

  I went to Dunningham first, like Selima had told me to do earlier. Using the tongs, I placed a clump of salad on his plate, but I wasn't very neat. A few pieces of lettuce and a tomato landed on the tablecloth. Dunningham didn't say anything, he simply placed the vegetables back on his plate. Selima had also told me that he preferred Italian dressing. I held the ceramic container in my hands.

  “Dressing, sir?”

  Dunningham nodded. “Just a splash.”

  I poured a drizzle onto his salad. I did the same with Doyle. I felt awkward when I got to Colden. I put salad on his plate. “Dressing?” I asked, but I refused to call him sir.

  “Yes,” he answered. “But I like a lot. I'll tell you when to stop.”

  I poured the dressing on. It was way too much, enough to ruin the salad, but I wouldn't stop until Colden told me to. He held his hand up, which I resented.

  I wheeled the cart back to the kitchen, leaving the men to enjoy their salads. The other
girl who worked in the kitchen, Twila, took a basket of bread into the dining room. Selima told me to help her fix the plates. Dinner was pot roast and baby potatoes.

  My mouth watered as I fixed the plates. As Selima cut the roast, the meat easily fell into slices. If she hadn’t been looking, I would have stolen a pinch of meat. I didn't remember the last time I'd eaten, and I couldn't wait to eat again. Selima placed silver covers over the plates and then carried them into the dining room. She carried two while I carried one. I made sure I put mine down in front of Doyle so she would have to serve Colden. As they dug into their meal, Selima, Twila, and I stood off to the side in case they needed anything.

  My stomach growled, and I hoped no one else had heard it. Watching them eat while I starved made me angry.

  Colden cut into his pot roast. Although I couldn't stand him, I was happy that he got to have a hearty meal. I wondered if he had ever eaten meat before. “So about the lifestones . . .”

  “Yes,” Dunningham answered. “We'll take you to the Mill in the morning. Anything to help my people. I'll have Hesper set you up in the guest room.”

  Something was wrong with the way he said that. I didn't think he was planning on turning over any lifestones, period.

  “Don't you think,” Dunningham continued, “that it's a little unfair for you all to charge us for medical care since you’re the ones who caused my people injuries? After all, we wouldn’t need any of this, if it weren't for my brother and your people.”

  The way Dunningham looked at Colden, I was afraid for him.

  Colden held his hands up. “Sir, I'm just the messenger.”

  Dunningham took a drink from his glass. “I shouldn't expect anything more from Dunstan. My brother has never been a man of honor.” He set his glass down and focused on me. “Naomi, what do you think?”

  I cleared my throat. “About what?”

  “What we just said.”

  All eyes were on me. Selima gave me a warning glance.

  “I think since the Foragers caused this problem, they should be sending their doctors here to help our Grims and not be expecting anything in return.”